


Douglas Lends A Hand

by AxeMeAboutAxinomancy



Series: Bangkok [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxeMeAboutAxinomancy/pseuds/AxeMeAboutAxinomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas shows up to help Martin with a van job. Ulterior motives naturally exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Douglas Lends A Hand

They got in late, and Martin went home. Douglas would have preferred otherwise, but Martin needed sleep, and had a van job in the morning. So Martin went home to his attic, which Douglas had only heard about but never seen - he could only imagine its Dickensian grimness - and Douglas went home to his flat - the place he got after Helena.

But before they parted he'd got Martin to mention when and where his job was to be; and so when Martin came out to get in his van, he paused in surprise to see Douglas sitting in his car, parked just opposite.

Martin approached the Lexus as though he thought it might go off. Douglas rolled the window down.  

"Douglas??" quietly. Thoughtful to the neighbours, which was just as well, as it was before the crack of the dawn of time.  "What's going - is something - ?"

"No need to be alarmed, Martin. I was up early. Want some help?"

Because the sooner Martin was done, the sooner he would be free to be cajoled over to Douglas' place.

Also, once the cautious disbelief on Martin's face gave way to pleasure, that was rewarding too.

"Really, you don't mind lending a hand? It, it wouldn't be like the last time, with my ankle - I can do my share."

"Really. Don't mind. Here, have a coffee," handing over a tall covered paper cup. "Oh, and this," a bag with some pastries in it.

"That's - that's really nice of you, Douglas."

"Don't get me wrong," Douglas offered Martin a slow-burning leer.  "It's in my interest to keep your strength up for later."

Martin stared at him in amazement - eyes and mouth wide - then lowered his gaze to the things in his hands, blushing. "Thank you," he smiled, and Douglas couldn't tell whether he was thanking him for the breakfast, or the leering.

And he rather enjoyed that he couldn't tell.

He'd got to know Martin well over the years, he'd thought, before the last trip, but this was all new. Now Douglas had access to - perhaps not everything, not yet anyway, but to much, much more.

And it was a different thing for Douglas than he'd ever done, and not because Martin was a man. That wasn't the different part. It was the knowing him for years part. It was the knowing him for years, the making fun of him, the fighting with him, the teasing of him and the growing interest in and admiration for him. That was very different.

And Martin knew Douglas. Not everything, no, but _lots_ about him. That was different too. All the things he tended to conceal when trying to impress, trying to get laid - Martin knew them. The alcoholism, the divorces, the downgrade from captain. The need to tease. And the need to keep his hand in in the smuggling game.

The one thing of real importance that Martin didn't know was that Douglas was actually in love with him. He ought to have seen it but he didn't, and Douglas didn't want to tell him because it would so change the balance of power.

He took enough of a risk in Bangkok, but that had turned out splendidly for everyone.

Besides: Martin wouldn't believe it. And his not believing of it would become a sore point, because there's nobody who hates to be disbelieved like a liar when he's telling the truth.

Still, there was more to love than blurting out the word and handing off some orchids.

There was the paying of close and careful attention, and Douglas already did that a lot. There were thoughtful gestures based on the information gleaned by that attention, and he was making one this morning. And, naturally, there was a tremendous amount of sex.

Or there would be. Later.

But first, a thoughtful gesture already in progress.

Douglas locked his car and got into the passenger seat of the van.

"It'll take half an hour to get there," Martin fretted when reminded of the pastry, "I can eat on the way," but Douglas already knew what time the job was and how early they'd be and forced the issue by threatening to eat the one he knew Martin would want.

"Drink coffee while you drive, but eat now."

Martin sighed, but his eye was already lingering lustfully on that Gourmandise, and what fun it was to watch his face change as he bit into it. And to hear how he _moaned_. Douglas had the Palmier (dipped in dark chocolate) and watched Martin swoon his way through the custard cream.

"You see, you couldn't have driven like that," and Douglas leaned close to steal a little bit of custard. Nothing too overt, but more intimate than he'd ever have done before Bangkok. He felt Martin's warm, startled glance and smiled.

Once driving, Martin ran through the details, a little mini-briefing on the mission of the day.

"All shall be done," Douglas intoned in his Most Splendid voice.

Martin glanced aside at him, raising his eyebrows. "Is that - Are you quoting?"

"Yes actually. It's Aslan, you know, from _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_ -? when he can finally be bothered to show up. My daughter likes me to read to her." Well. Liked. She was getting too old for that now, she'd said. "She says my Aslan voice is the best." Said.

"You haven't seen her in a while."

"No," and it was time for a change of subject.

  
  
  
  
  


Martin was moving an elderly lady's things from her old house into an assisted-living flat. The old girl still had her wits about her, but it was clear why she needed to move. She was frail and delicate as a dandelion gone to seed, and the old house was two storeys and didn't have a straight line anywhere. Douglas would have fallen down those stairs himself one day or another. It was time for her to go. Sad, though. She tried to be cheerful about it, which was sadder.

Martin became flustered when she pulled him down to kiss his cheek. She was even shorter than he was and he couldn't be used to that, but Douglas wondered if that was what made him stammer.

Her daughter-in-law came to pick her up, and Douglas was relieved to see real affection and care being taken as she left her home - her old home - for the last time. It could have been worse. It was bad enough.

Once they'd gone, the fine fellows of Icarus Removals could prop open the door and start carrying out boxes. Only a few items of furniture were going, but there were plenty of books, mementos, linens, clothing, pictures, everything she had left that was going with her, while her old house became someone's new house. There was already an estate agent's sign in the front garden.

"Everything all right, Martin...?"

"Yes... I just... I'm not used to clients being nice to me. It makes me worry that I'll let her down now, like I'll ruin her best coat or lose her only picture of her dead husband. Or something."

Douglas wanted to laugh because it was absurd, but Martin wasn't kidding.

"I see what you mean," was all he said. Instead of teasing.

Some thoughtful gestures were necessarily invisible.

Douglas naturally preferred the sort where he could take credit, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.

He _did_ see what Martin meant, anyway. It really was the sort of thing likely to happen to, because of, or in some way _around_ Martin. So Douglas kept an eye out to ward off any disasters, but it really was an easy enough job. The boxes were all meticulously packed and labelled and the fragile things were all corralled together in the sitting room.

They would have to come back and make a second trip, that was apparent from the start. Martin fretted over the use of petrol, but at least he was getting free assistance. And breakfast. And lustful eyes on his arse, which Douglas was only too happy to provide at no extra charge.

They took furniture first. Douglas had assumed it would be more efficient to take the boxes first, but as Martin pointed out, Mrs Underwood would need her chair and other little things before all the boxes descended into the small space of her new flat. It was thoughtful of Martin. Maybe he was thinking of his own mother. Wendy Crieff had not looked anything like so delicate as Mrs Underwood, but Douglas had seen Martin's face for the three hours it took them to get back to Fitton after her not-a-heart-attack. Martin worried himself into a frenzy about everything, of course he fretted about his mum. And, probably, over all of his Icarus clients, not just the little old ladies.

Not for the first time, Douglas wondered what Martin's father had been like.

Shouty, for one thing. No question. All three of the children were noticeably inesecure, and it didn't seem to come from Wendy. And he must have been tall: Wendy was short, and the other two were tall. So: Tall, and shouty. The signet ring Martin wore on his index finger had probably been a pinky ring on Papa Crieff.

Just as they returned for the load of boxes, it started to rain. Martin made a despairing noise as he looked out through the front door at the downpour.

Douglas, on the other hand, was thrilled. The way between them and the van was a deluge. "Good Lord. It's like an abattoir for wicked witches."

"Good thing Carolyn's not here then."

"Good thing for you she's not, because she'd pull your skin off and use it as an umbrella." It was doubtful there would be enough of Martin's skin to use as one, but anyway.

Martin laughed ruefully. "I wouldn't have said it if she were."

"Well," said Douglas, bracingly, "surely it'll let up soon. Come on, let's look upstairs in the meantime, and make sure we didn't forget anything."

Martin ought to have been suspicious, but it seemed he really was fretting about letting Mrs Underwood down and he could not resist the compulsion to look in every room for boxes stencilled MARTIN DON'T FORGET ME. Douglas smiled a long lean smile as he followed Martin up the worn carpeted stairs.

There weren't any boxes. There wasn't any furniture. The upstairs had been really thoroughly emptied out and swept, though the floors could do with some polishing. Their footsteps and voices echoed in the empty rooms. Martin went into a room with a window seat, now devoid of cushions, and peered out the windows as though he would be able to discern an end to the endless rain, triangulate it from the different views.

When he turned around he found Douglas right behind him.

"Douglas," warningly, because he had already come to know that look in Douglas' eye, but Douglas interrupted smoothly, "Oh come on Martin... We've got a little time, a little privacy... why not have a little fun?"

He did not add, 'you know you want to,' because it was already present in his voice.

Martin was trying to marshal his reasons why not but got no further than "But it's -"

"Oh, I know. Let me guess, it's: Someone else's house? Partially (if really only technically) public? Broad, if watery, daylight?"

Martin nodded.

"So?"

Martin glanced at the windows. The world outside the house was a streaky grey blur of rain, rain, rain.

Then he looked back at Douglas. His eyes were rain coloured, too.

"It's a _client's_ house," he said weakly.

"Out of which the client has already moved."

Martin was wearing a light jacket, a bit too light for the weather really, but very useful as a sort of handle by which to grip Martin and reel him in.

"Douglas."

It was not a protest. Not said like _that_ it wasn't.

Martin's hands were cold. But his lips were warm. After a minute Douglas sat him down in the window seat and sat down too and really set about aggressively invading Martin's personal space. He had looked and looked and looked at Martin for years and though there certainly was more looking to be done when there was leisure for nudity, there was all that _touching_ to catch up on.

And kissing. Kissing was a form of touching.

Martin wasn't used to any of it.

Christ his nipples were sensitive weren't they. And Martin's gasps sounded as though he didn't even know that.

So much to do.

"Ah - Douglas! You, you can't, what if - what if someone came in to see the house and - "

"In this rain? Well. If they did... We could tell them I was trying out for your basketball team."

"No really - "

"I _could_ say I was just lending a man a hand with a job."

"Douglas - "

"Or that I have somehow misplaced my keys, and I'm looking _everywhere_."

Martin was giggling and gasping at the same time and hiccups seemed inevitable. Douglas cut short the conversation (all right, teasing) and made Martin moan urgently into his mouth instead.

To his credit, though he was almost completely stupid with arousal, Martin reached out to try to do for Douglas in return, but Douglas shook his head and growled " _Later_ " because he had _plans_ , and Martin could see those plans on his face.

And that was it for Martin.

They sat for a while in the window seat, waiting for a break in the weather so they could finish the job and go back to Fitton.

Martin was leaning against him. It would not be inaccurate to say that Martin was nestled in his arms. If you felt like putting it that way. Douglas didn't mind.

"Douglas... did you somehow make it rain today?"

He smiled against the top of Martin's coppery head. _Oh Martin, will you never pay attention to the weather report?_

"That would be telling."


End file.
